


By Land or By Sea

by RhetoricFemme



Category: Dark Matter - Michelle Paver
Genre: 99 percent canon compliant if you know what i mean, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, darkmatterexchange, our boy lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:28:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21930403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhetoricFemme/pseuds/RhetoricFemme
Summary: Life following Gruhuken isn't always kind to Jack, but never does he stop trying to make the best of the situation. It helps immensely that he has Gus by his side.
Relationships: Gus Balfour/Jack Miller
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	By Land or By Sea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gruhukens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gruhukens/gifts).



> I'd like to wish a Merry Christmas to [Bitterblue](https://bittterblue.tumblr.com/), for whom I had the honor of writing this Dark Matter fic for. I hope it makes you smile, and that you get everything need and want this holiday season. <3

Jack never could tell which he considered worse. The frozen abyss looming just off the frigid winter beach, or the fog hovering over dry land.

Jack imagines it’s the fog. No one save for man himself ever invited him to visit the oceanic depths to which he never belonged. But the fog?

It taunted them. Confirming what some of them already understood, which was that men could not even claim the solid ground directly beneath their feet. The air they breathed to go on living was mockingly shared by entities who no longer needed it, but dared regardless to partake in it.

Be it water or air, Jack was certain of what awaited him on the other side.

Hell.

There would be no negotiating over this one. Nor would Jack hesitate to mention his fear to anyone who dared ask him how he found Gruhuken’s conditions. He would put it as simply as he could while looking inquirers in the eye before candidly asking, “Do you see where secrets and discretion got us?”

The way Jack saw it, people deserved to know.

Despite it all, nor can Jack honestly claim to have any regrets.

After all, it was their voyage to Gruhuken that had brought Gus to him. An enviable man who took advantage of his station in life only in order to bring more knowledge and appreciation into this world.

It had been Gus’s enthusiasm and candor that had opened Jack up on their way to Gruhuken. That Gus had not only been willing to give Jack a fair shake, but that class lines and dialect meant nothing to him were ultimately the catalyst that kept Jack from seeing his part in the entire venture a wash.

No. There would be no regrets where Gus was concerned.

In fact, Jack was certain he’d of given his other foot had be believed Gus’s life would have been spared. It had been nothing short of a blessing that the matter had not come down to that.

* * *

September 29, 1938

I woke this morning with a distinct chill across my body. My skin simultaneously hot and clammy all over, the sweat I’d mistaken for drops of sea water stuck to my face. It was only when I tried to mop the wretched stuff from my brow that I realized it’d been nothing more than the product of a nightmare, and that I was quite literally tucked safely into my bed.

Our bed.

I’d been quite alone during that wretched moment, though the truth of the matter is that it wasn’t meant to last. Somewhere not too far off, I could hear the metal clink of dog tags and that certain bell-like laughter approaching the front door.

Oh, Isaak. That particular laughter makes me think you must have tangled your lead again. But I never did get the chance to ask.

They’d come inside then, the smile on Gus’s face faltering at the sight of me.

‘Another one?’ he’d asked.

There was nothing I could say. What was there to say?

Barely a year out from those hellacious events, and the closer we get to the one year mark, the worse the dreams seem to get. It’s when Gus climbs beneath the covers beside me that I force myself to think of something better, something new. I have a sneaking suspicion that these terrible dreams, or Gus’s night terrors might not ever go entirely away. A memento to accompany the anniversary of Gruhuken.

But it’s no matter. There are better dreams to salve over top of it. It’s also worth mentioning that these days, dreams of any nature cannot compare to the blessing of my present reality.

I could see the points of Isaak’s ears from the edge of the bed from where I lay. Leave it to that endearing beast to also get me to laugh. Gus had pulled his arms around me, then, burying his nose into the crook of my neck while making some weak excuse that he was simply trying to make room for Isaak. I’d nodded in understanding while not hesitating to turn around in his arms, allowing Gus to fully envelop me.

‘Shall we take inventory again?’ he wanted to know. I’d shaken my head in disagreement while nestling deeper into his chest.

‘That’d make it four times.’ I’d said.

Everything was as it’d been the night before when we’d gone to bed. Boxes containing books and journals, kitchen supplies, bedding and clothes… There’s even a box marked _parlour games_ , which I admit is not something I’d ever count among my lot. And yet there it is.

We’re moving onto a new adventure, Gus and I. Jamaica, of all places, and at his parent’s behest. To be plain, I’d had my concerns as to what opinions they might have had of me. But over the course of the past year they have shown time and again that they accept me in more capacities than I dare mention. They too, have saved my life in more ways than one. It’s not something I should dare take for granted, and as it was last autumn, it remains my ambition to help Gus’s passion and botanical research to do nothing less than flourish.

At the end of the week, I’ll find myself aboard another ship with Gus by my side (and of course, Isaak, too). This time we’re quite literally onto greener pastures.

* * *

* * *

The shallow water of the river is invitingly warm, its whispers dulcet and pure. To be certain, this is water has absolutely nothing to hide.

Seated on a boulder several yards out sits Jack Miller. He’s got the legs of his pants rolled mid-calf, his prosthetic foot drying on the rock beside him. Per old habits, he wears a small cross-bodied satchel. Jack is hardly ever without it, lest he not have his journal or field guide on him at a moment’s notice. It’s one of myriad nuances that make up Jack’s overall routine. One of those little things that helps keep him feel sane.

Perhaps no one is more surprised than Jack himself that Castleton’s rivers are his favorite places to visit. Three years they’ve been in Jamaica, and Jack is finally at a good place in life. That old bitterness has long since dissipated, having been replaced by a renewed vigor for learning and exploration.

Jack’s head remains down for now, focused on the sketchbook in his lap while trying to work around the glare from the sun. He’s been sitting here for hours, filling one page after another with images and information. He’s certain Gus will have something to say about working on his day off, but Jack can think of nothing better than being scolded out of concern for his well-being.

He isn’t made to wait long.

Within minutes Jack’s work is interrupted by quiet splashing from somewhere behind him. He doesn’t startle, as the sound is a familiar one. Deliberate in its gentle cadence, he immediately knows that it’s Gus who approaches, and though he’s still several yards off Jack cannot help the pleased smile that spreads across his face.

“It would seem,” Gus drawls playfully. “That you’re currently deep in the throes of work whilst we are in the middle of a non-work day. How contrary of you.”

Jack’s smile widens, but he doesn’t humor Gus by turning around. “Actually, I’m working on a rendering of this little ecosystem’s phytoplankton population. I plan on sending it to Algie.”

“So… so your plan is to send algae to Algie.”

Jack’s body waits for it. The gentle squeeze of Gus’s hands on his shoulders, and the happy little shiver that accompanies it. With that, he snaps the sketchbook shut, slips it inside the satchel and leans all of his weight onto Gus.

“You love my terrible puns.”

Gus hums in agreement. “That I do.”

They take a moment then. Time that is entirely theirs, stolen from no one and nothing, and together Gus and Jack simply exist.

Even so, all good things must eventually come to an end. But how fortunate when those spent treasures are replaced by more good things.

“Does it hurt today?” Gus nods toward the stump of Jack’s leg, where it rests in the calm water.

“Not terribly.”

“But it does.” Gus presses. Empathetic as he is, nor has he ever been one for mincing difficult words. “Shall I carry you?”

Jack takes his time thinking about it. Gus gives it to him.

“Just to the bank?”

“Just to the bank.”

But they don’t stop at the riverbank. They simply rearrange the order in which they do things. While Gus had initially scooped Jack into his arms, they stop only momentarily on land so that he may climb onto Gus’s back.

And so they remain the entire trek home.

* * *

November 30, 1940

It’s that time of year again, isn’t it? Try as I might, there’s no helping the fact that from autumn forward I start to feel a bit nervous. Easily distracted and overly annoyed at even the smallest things. It all seems to dissipate the closer we get to Christmas, however. Regardless, Gus can usually find a way to get me to smile.

He seems to fare worse during late September, whereas my anxiety tends to pick up toward the end of October. We’re enough years out that we’re able to track the patterns. There’s no talk of the specifics. I daresay we’ve had more than enough of that.

Besides, we’ve much nicer topics we can discuss these days.

Gus caught me on the river again this morning. He chided me, of course, wanting to know what I was doing at a work site when there was no need to be there. If that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black, then I don’t know what is.

I let him carry me back home. I allow for it more and more often these days, though I’m sure that’s part of the reason why I keep taking myself down to the river in the first place.

On the way back into town, Gus suggested taking part of our winter back in England. Imagine my surprise when I had no urge to disagree! We haven’t been back since arriving in Castleton three years ago, though Gus’s parents have managed a trip down to see their son.

Gus says they’ve written and would love to see both of us. I never cease to shock at hearing that. Gus reads me their letters from time to time. It comes as no surprise to me that they would correspond regularly to the point that some of their envelopes contain nothing more than funnies clipped out of their newspapers.

And I would imagine that Isaak would to once again see the snow. Had a bit of a laugh when first thinking about that.

‘So you’ll go, then?’ Gus said hopefully. As if I wouldn’t.

‘Yes, Augustus. I suppose I’ll go.’

And just like that, Gus had given a mighty blush. I daresay it’s my secret weapon. A term of endearment. I don’t quite know, except that I quite like it. It seems he does, too.

We’ve already discussed our holiday, have decided to keep things simple and to take just one large trunk between us. Gus assures me that whatever else we need will already be at the house. And when I’d glared at him for calling an entire estate a house, he’d had the good grace to blush yet again.

‘At any rate,’ I’d told him, ‘I will be making my own bed whilst a guest at your parent’s place.’

‘Our bed.’ Gus corrected me, ‘We can make our own bed at my parent’s place.’


End file.
